


Carry You Home

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Nonconsensual Drug Use, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired By While You Were Sleeping (1995), M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Past Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: It's a normal Tuesday night atVolupta, entertaining Caesar's clients, breathing through the haze of drugs and sweat and touches Nasir doesn't want.And then Duro Richter has to go and play hero and land himself in acoma,leaving Nasir with a whole bunch of people who think thatheis Duro's secret boyfriend.It's not like he has ajobto go back to. He might as well let them take the awkward comfort....But then there'sAgron.-A While You Were Sleeping AU.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 168





	1. Poor Decisions Made Very Quickly

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literal years late to this fandom.  
> I have no idea what I'm doing. Mercy, please. 
> 
> Thanks to Weary, who doesn't even go here, but kicked me every time I got stuck.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from the Zara Larsson song.

It’s 2 AM, and the throbbing bass inside _Volupta_ has sent Nasir from migraine to jaw-locking head-to-shoulder throb. It’s been a long day, and an even longer night. And from the looks Caesar has been sending him, cuddled up with a handsy trust fund kid half-falling in his lap, it will only get longer. 

Around midnight or so, clothing started coming off in the VIP, but it’s not helping with the sweat-slick tightness of his skin, as if the slightest movement will crack the surface open. Something isn’t right. 

He glances at Caesar again, who lifts his drink and _winks_ over the rim, and feels his chest tighten. _Again with the drugs. Damn it._

A cold, seething part of him knows that this is how _Volupta_ works. The night club is a handy front for all sorts of questionable indulgences—and sometimes, hosts like Nasir provide a tempting peek. 

But he wonders, more frequently now, what it would be like if his boyfriend _warned_ him first. He wouldn’t _begin_ to dream of being _asked_. 

He thought this was love, once. 

Now he settles for position, and takes up his, biting his lip and disguising a desperate gasp for air against his patron’s neck. “ _Dominus,_ ” Tiberius sighs. And he sinks into another pair of selfish, grasping hands. 

-

Duro isn’t the type of rich jackass who can afford bottle service, but he’s charming enough to duck in with a group of pretty girls and enjoy the finest cheap shit his menial drudgery can buy. 

He looks around, thumb rubbing at the damp label of his beer, and smiles when a blond in what is either saran wrap or a very expensive designer dress grinds back against him. 

They entertain themselves for a while, laughing and yelling to be heard over the music, and then Duro has to piss, but that line for the bathroom is _not_ looking promising. So he does what he’d do at any dive, and heads for the side exit into the alley. 

Which was probably a mistake. 

Two decent-sized guys are holding up a third, much smaller one with dark skin and long, dark hair. He’s soaking through a scrap of fabric that could generously be called a shirt, struggling to keep his head up. 

There’s a blond man before him, cradling his face between his hands in a gesture that might have been intimate if that smile weren’t so creepy.

“I just wonder what could have _possessed_ you to misbehave like that.”

“Cee—” The little man starts, taking a deep breath. “I think I need a doctor.”

“You’re about to, baby. You just _stabbed_ our new business partner.”

“I don’t remember it. Caesar, I _don’t remember._ I don’t think I’m handling it right. I feel sick.”

Duro’s nails bite into his palms. He doesn’t know exactly what this is, but that old Richter temper is itching at the back of his neck. It isn’t _right_ , that’s for damn sure. 

He can _hear_ Agron in the back of his skull, telling him _don’t do it, dumbass._ But it’s been a hell of a long time since he’s _listened_ to his big brother’s shit. 

“ _Hey!_ ” He yells. “ _Hören Sie auf damit!”_

The first guy isn’t expecting a fist to the head, and he goes down easily. For a moment, he’s very proud of himself, but the second goon loosens his grip on the little guy, and Duro has to haul him back out of the way.

“You’re all right, Little Man. Hey, stand up.”

Goon Two comes barreling at him, and Duro pushes the shorter man back so he can duck down and lever the guy over his shoulder. He feels pretty good until his new friend shouts, and suddenly there’s a blinding pain in the back of his skull. 

He feels the sharp impact of cement on his cheek, and doesn’t think much more of it. 

Agron’s gonna be pissed. 

-

Tonight is a bad night, Nasir has decided. 

The searing heat under his skin, the burning pain in his stomach where Caesar had hit him, the German bleeding on the pavement. 

_A bad night._

This poor idiot was trying to help a friend, emboldened by alcohol and some delusional sense of decency, and now he’s another disappearing act at Legion hands. 

Unless. 

He’s breathing, Nasir can see that, and there’s a lot of blood, all right—but head wounds bleed a lot. He saw that on TV once. He could be okay. 

If he gets help. 

But there’s no one here to help him, not…

Not like he tried to help Nasir. 

There’s nothing he can do, really, except drop down uselessly by the man’s side, shaking fingers grabbing his shoulder. 

He can barely move his arms. 

Can only stare up at Caesar. 

Open his mouth. 

And _scream._

-

Nasir thinks he’s ridden in an ambulance once before, years and years ago. He’s pretty sure no one was dying. You’d remember that, right?

He’s going to remember _this._

The paramedic divides her attention between them, moving from Duro (according to the license in his wallet) to Nasir, who almost gave his work name in a fit of sheer stupor. 

He blinks when she taps his arm, and he realizes that he’s holding his rescuer’s hand. One or both of them are going to need a lot of therapy for this. 

“Honey, I need you to tell me what you’re on.”

“I didn’t mean to take it.”

“Someone drugged you?”

He nods and it feels like his brain is rattling in his skull, so he nods less. 

She bites her lip, looking back at the German. “Same person who did this?”

“Yeah.” Nasir says, “Tell you if I need to vomit?”

“Please.”

-

Duro gets wheeled off on a stretcher, and Nasir spends the next hour or so answering questions without _answering questions_ , following a bright light with his eyes, and drinking what must be a gallon or more of water. 

During this time, it seems that the nursing staff has fallen under the impression that he and Duro are close. They’ve been very nice to him through all of it. A redhead with a sweet smile and a nametag that read _Laeta_ dug up a comically oversized sweatshirt from the lost and found when they realized his shirt was pretty much _useless_ in the chilly hallways. 

So here he is at 4:58 AM, in the hospital, dressed in hotpants and trying to keep the floppy sleeves of his borrowed sweatshirt from getting in the _apple juice_ they gave him because _we don’t know if you should have caffeine._

He’d very politely refused admission, insisting that he would be okay. 

“Are you sure? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

Smiling took effort, but he managed it anyway. “Honestly, that guy would probably be your best bet.”

And wasn’t that sad?

Must be, because Laeta _cooed_ at him. “It’ll be alright. He’s a fighter, huh?”

Maybe. He seemed to have a pretty decent left hook. 

...why was she looking at him like that?

-

The nurses let him stick around until Duro was out of surgery, but none of them could give him details, as he was obviously not the man’s emergency contact. 

No, that honor undoubtedly fell to the tall brunet guiding a raiding party of well-built men and hellbent women to the nurse’s station with military precision. “We’re here for Richter. Duro Richter. His brother’s the primary, but he’s out of town.”

Really? 

Nasir thought it was pretty impressive that fifteen people had showed up at the hospital, and none of them were a blood relative. 

_Do I know fifteen people?_

Then…

_That I haven’t slept with?_

Huh. 

“And you are, sir?”

“Spartacus Ariti.”

There’s a lot of back and forth that Nasir half-listens to, looking over the people that nearly never saw their loved one again because he can’t handle his shit. 

Deep breath. 

“Only a few of you can go in at a time. It’s our policy.” 

“All right, we’ll divide up.” Spartacus claps his hands, quieting _most_ of the muttering. 

Another irritable titan of a man rolls his eyes. “I can wait. Who goes to the ER at 3 AM on a _Wednesday_?”

The woman he’s got his arm wrapped around uses her advantage to pinch him in his undefended side. “I don’t think he _scheduled it_ , Crixus.”

“What _happened_ , anyway?” 

_Me,_ Nasir thinks, and then for some reason says _aloud,_ “He got hit in the head with a metal pipe when he jumped in to save me _like an idiot._ ”

“I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” A blonde woman who’d previously been eyeing up Nurse Belesa frowns at him. 

“That’s Mr. Richter’s boyfriend.” Laeta hustles over to him, smiling. “He saved his life!”

“No.” Nasir frowns, “That’s definitely not right.”

“It’s not your fault, Nasir. It’s only natural to protect the ones you love.”

“No?”

“...Duro is _gay_?” A shorter, scruffier German frowns, as if this is an alien concept. 

It might be an alien concept. 

_Shit._

He feels like he’s been microwaved and beaten like a piñata, and it occurs to him now that _he can’t go home_. He downs the rest of his apple juice, imagining that it’s a shot. 

He would do some ugly things for a shot right now. 

The mob continues to chitter, sorting things among them. Maybe trying to decide on a spokesman, or which one of them will be whupping his ass. 

“You want another, sweetheart? You need to keep your blood sugar up.”

“Why?”

“...You were drugged. Do you not…?”

“No, I—”

“He was _what?_ ” Spartacus’ voice is dead even. It’s more than a bit unnerving with those blue eyes fixed straight on his _soul_. 

“I was drugged last night. This morning? It’s nothing.”

“Um, no?” Crixus’ partner looks distressed. “No it’s _not_.”

“It _is._ I’m fine, Duro isn’t. Focus on him.”

“A devoted lover!” The short German crows, and several nurses shush him. 

“ _No,_ please.”

A doctor steps out of Duro’s room, finally drawn by all of the noise, and looks rather like he’d rather lock himself back in. 

Nasir doesn’t blame him. 

-

Somehow, he ends up getting swept into the room with the A-Team of People Who Give a Shit About His Imaginary Boyfriend. 

They’re much more subdued as they gather around the bed, watching Duro’s chest rise and fall with his breath. It’s a lot more reassuring _now_ than it was in the alley. 

Nasir hasn’t had a family in a long time, but he’s glad Duro does. 

“It must be hard for you.” The blond woman, Saxa, squeezes his arm. “Duro’s a stubborn bastard. He’ll recover.”

Crixus snorts. “He’s stubborn, all right. Didn’t feel like telling anyone about his boy, here.”

Something about that hits Nasir wrong. He frowns. 

“I can’t imagine why.”

 _No,_ He thinks. _That is not your boyfriend. This is not your circus._ **_These are not your monkeys_ ** **.**

Another, broader hand falls to his other shoulder. Spartacus’ reassurance is almost contagious. “Crixus is just surprised. None of us knew. We haven’t seen him in a while, and…”

“He’s Agron’s problem more than anyone’s. The idiot.” 

Nasir decides that Crixus is an asshole. 

He probably shouldn’t have said it out loud. 

The man, who could undoubtedly snap him like a twig, looks stunned. 

Nasir continues. “He didn’t have to save me. _No one_ has ever done anything that _stupid_ for me before—but he did it, because he’s a _good person._ ”

Duro’s friends start smiling at him, sappy and loving and he realizes with absolute horror that _it’s too late._

He’s Duro’s fucking boyfriend.


	2. Credit Where Credit is New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing for this is actually complete, so I'll be posting a chapter a day, ideally. 
> 
> :D
> 
> Is there a Nagron Discord?  
> I haven't been able to find one.

Nasir sits down back in the hallway, the shoulder of his borrowed sweatshirt damp where a teary-eyed Lugo had pulled him into a crushing hug and told him,  _ “I am glad he find  _ **_you_ ** _!” _

There has to be a way out of this situation that doesn’t involve him getting buried underneath 5-6 angry linebackers. 

He’s thinking hard, trying to figure out how to leave and where to  _ go  _ that Caesar won’t  _ find  _ him when Spartacus sits down beside him with a cup of crappy hospital coffee. “Nasir.” He says, like he enjoys the warmth he puts into it. 

“Spartacus.” Nasir answers, because he can think of literally nothing else  _ to  _ say. 

“We’ve all fallen down on the job, it seems.”

It’s funny, in a really ugly way, because this all started with Nasir  _ literally falling down  _ on the job. Just...with a knife, apparently. Damn it. 

“Duro used to always be ready for a fight, so this...isn’t completely surprising. But it always seemed far away. Agron kept an eye on him. They got along well.”

Nasir frowns, fidgeting with his juice. “Something changed?”

“We didn’t pay enough attention. But you did, huh? You stayed with him.”

_ Until the ambulance came.  _

Nasir winces. 

“No, I…”

“You saved his life.”

“ _ I really didn’t. _ He’s in a  _ coma. _ ”

“He kept going off to get into fights. Nasir, the last time I saw him, Mira was popping bones back into place. He looks  _ different _ now. He’s put on weight.”

“That’s nothing to do with me.”

The look Spartacus gives him leaves him unsure if he wants to break down crying or punch him in the face. The hand on his arm is still warm from the coffee cup. 

“If Duro had died, last night or in the months before...I don’t know what we’d do. I don’t know what  _ Agron  _ would do. You don’t know how you’ve saved us, Nasir.”

He really,  _ really  _ doesn’t.

-

_ What are these people???? _

-

Nasir makes the very grave mistake of letting the girls get him alone while the men, save Crixus and Spartacus, split off for food and other morning necessities. Crixus is apparently surgically attached to Naevia, while Spartacus remains in Duro’s room like a bizarre, 6’3” guard dog. 

Duro’s probably fine on that front, but Nasir is  _ screwed.  _

“So, Nasir.” Naevia smiles. “How did the two of you meet?”

“How does Duro meet  _ anyone _ ?” Crixus snorts. “At a bar.”

Nasir’s belly aches, and he wants one of whatever Naevia takes to keep from suffocating her boyfriend with a pillow. “Oh, I—”

“Whatever happened to that girl he was boning. The crazy one—” Saxa scrunches up her nose, trying to remember.

“They’re  _ all  _ batshit crazy.  _ He keeps picking up women at dive bars. _ ” 

Mira  _ hisses  _ at him. “Well he isn’t  _ now _ .”

_ Right,  _ Nasir thinks.  _ This time he went to a nice nightclub run by a batshit crazy Roman. _

_ Much better.  _

Donar comes back with Lugo tucked under his arm, sharing a bag of Doritos between them. “So how did ‘the tits make up for it’  _ Duro  _ end up with…” He gestures to Nasir. “No tits.”

“Ugh. Donar.” Saxa rolls her eyes. “He’s  _ beautiful _ . I bet it was love at first sight, huh?”

“Er…”

_ He definitely came in swinging.  _

“Did you steal him away? Defend him from a crazy ex?”

“Other way around, actually.”

He feels reasonably certain that he is  _ definitely not dating Caesar anymore.  _

Then, unable to stop himself. “...They’re going to come looking for me.”

The smiles dissolve. 

He feels Saxa’s hand grip his atop his knee. “They’re not gonna  _ touch _ you.”

The weird fluttery feeling in his stomach is very hard to name, so he settles for drowning it with apple juice. 

-

He begs off around noon, and heads for the only safe place he can think of—Chadara’s.

She quit  _ Volupta  _ ages ago, when the quitting was still good. She hadn’t been dumb enough to seek position with  _ Caesar _ , and so it had been a relatively peaceful retirement. 

The hallways smell like ocean breeze something-or-other, but it doesn’t help the nauseous unease in his chest. 

Like the weight of the world is inside the sad CVS bag dangling from his fingers. 

She opens the door before Nasir even makes it to her stupid cheerful doormat, and he nearly collapses at the feeling of her fingers in his hair. “I’ll go get your shit tomorrow. I know the back way in.”

But there’s still something he has to do. 

-

Technically, visiting hours are over, but the nursing staff have a soft spot for him. He can’t tell if it’s his epic love story rescue, or having seen him in hotpants and nothing else. 

The latter usually does it for people, but it’s been a weird day. 

He takes a deep breath, eyes running over Duro’s still, handsome features, down his arm to the IV. 

Someone should hold his hand, but that someone isn’t Nasir. 

This is not his boyfriend. 

This is not his life. 

“I should probably introduce myself. I’m Nasir Faizan. Your friends think I’m your boyfriend, mostly because I can’t yell loud enough to get a word in.”

He pauses, eying Duro again, the rise and fall. The steady beeping. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t have that problem. You ran headfirst at Caesar’s finest fuckheads without flinching. Idiot.”

He moves to sit in the chair by Duro’s bedside. 

“They care about you a lot. I’m a little jealous. No one’s ever done what you did for me before, and you have no idea who I am.” 

He reaches out, and scrapes his fingers against the hospital-issue blanket. It feels  _ awful,  _ but it must be warm. His eyes sting. 

“I want to tell you that you shouldn’t have done it, because it was stupid. You’re in a hospital bed right now because you tried to defend a  _ slave _ . ...But I wish I were more like you.”

Nasir’s fingers finally graze the side of Duro’s palm, and he flinches back when the man’s hand twitches. 

“You’re a good person. I don’t meet a lot of those.”

He rests his chin on the edge of the bed, eyes growing heavy. 

“You should hurry and wake up.” He smiles, “Maybe punch Crixus next.”

He doesn’t notice Spartacus slipping away from the door. 

He’s too busy falling asleep.

-

Nasir wakes up to his phone buzzing in his pocket and scratchy fabric rubbing at his face. He shifts, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and realizes that someone has covered him with  _ another  _ blanket. 

He hadn’t meant to sleep here and now his spine is paying for it. 

He should head back to Chadara’s. In fact, he goes to do just that, and runs directly into Crixus, Naevia, Mira, Gannicus, and Saxa. There’s no earthly reason for Crixus to look as irritable as he is surrounded by this many smiling people. 

“Nasir!” Naevia smiles. “Were you here all night?”

“Yes.” He winces. 

Crixus moves to monopolize the chair Nasir just left, and Naevia pats his arm before going to get a better look. “How is he doing? Any better?”

“He’s got some color.” 

Mira offers him a cup of coffee, and he takes it with a desperate sort of gratitude, sipping at it before glancing up at the time. “I’m sorry, I have to go. My friend will be worried about me.”

More buzzing in his pocket. 

Chadara’s going to rip him a new one. 

“We didn’t mean to kick you out.” Gannicus frowns. 

“No, no. It was good to see you again. I just...didn’t tell her I was going.”

“Tell her you’ll be out for dinner tonight.” Crixus calls, and Nasir blinks at him. 

“Will I?”

The man nods, “Naevia’s hosting family dinner. We do it once a week.”

Something in Nasir’s stomach  _ twists _ , then dissolves into a strange floating sensation battering his lungs. “Right, um...I don’t—”

“You’re  _ family _ .” Saxa says, clapping him on the shoulder near hard enough to bruise. He feels like she probably does krav maga, or some other kind of recreational beating-the-shit-out-of-people. “And Agron will be getting in! He’ll be so happy to meet you!”

_ The brother. Oh, boy.  _

“You’re delusional if you think you’re getting away after this.” Mira giggles, and Nasir doesn’t think she gets how  _ threatening  _ that sounds. 

“Here.” Gannicus holds out his phone, opened to the notes app. “Write your number down here. Spartacus will call and talk you into it. I’ll text you the address.”

He feels a bit odd giving  _ any  _ information to someone smiling like that, but he’s also reasonably confident that Saxa would defend him.

“...Fine.”

-

He’s nearly made it to the elevator when a nurse chases after him, calling him ‘Mr. Nasir,’ which is  _ bizarre.  _ He’s holding a box in his arms, smiling ever so helpfully. 

“These are your boyfriend’s things.”

“Shouldn’t you be giving those to Spartacus?”

“He told me to give them to you.”

_ Why? _

He doesn’t argue, just takes a deep breath, smiles as much as he can manage, and waits until the elevator doors shut to let his head hit the cool metal. 

-

“So what’s the harm, exactly?” Chadara asks, pausing mid-braid to lean over his shoulder. “It sounds like they’re being pretty nice. You deserve nice.”

“Chadara, they think I’m their weird cult brother.”

“This is worse than getting passed around like a party favor  _ how _ ?”

“They’re all built like The Rock, and when they find out I nearly got their  _ friend  _ killed, they’re going to beat me like a  _ drum _ .”

She sighs, her fingers carding back through his hair. Like the sheer frustration he puts her through necessitates her starting over. “It doesn’t really sound like it. It’s like you’re their weird friendship glue—especially after what Spartacus said. So stick around for a while. Enjoy it.”

Nasir’s lips twitch, and he tries very hard not to smile. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

She gives up on the braid entirely, smacking and pushing at him until he groans and turns to face her on the couch. “Nasir, I quit because I realized I was better than Caesar’s bullshit. And  _ you?  _ Are  _ definitely  _ better than Caesar’s bullshit. I’m hoping that being around people who can manage  _ basic fucking decency _ will be the wake up call you need to realize that you’re a  _ sweet, intelligent  _ person that deserves to be loved.”

“Chadara…”

“You scraped me off the floor the first time that jackass dosed me with zero warning. You held my hair while I threw up, and then you held  _ me  _ until the shaking stopped. I hate— _ I hate _ that you talk about yourself like you’re some kind of empty person.”

“They think I’m a lot more than I am.”

She kicks him in the thigh. “ _ Shut up _ . They think you love their friend. So love him for a while,  _ damn _ .”

“...What if he never wakes up?”

“Then you give a bunch of people a good memory of their friend.”

_ A good memory… _


	3. A Warm Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone wants the song this fic keeps making me think of: [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRGSdB7Y298)
> 
> Shout out to DevilsPetal for fixing my very bad German. The internet _lies_.

So he takes an Uber to Crixus and Naevia’s house, dressed in a scrounged-up button down and carrying a bottle of what he hopes is nice wine. His baseline for comparison is more than a little ridiculous, based on what he poured in the club. 

The house is astoundingly domestic compared to what he was expecting: two stories with an attic, lights twinkling cheerily into the evening dim, music and laughter drifting from the windows. 

Because there are people inside—people that know and love each other.

This is insane. 

_ There are lawn gnomes.  _

What is he  _ doing _ ?

“Nasir!”

He jumps, whirling to find a laughing Spartacus coming up the sidewalk. “You made it.” He smiles. “You sounded nervous on the phone. Sit with me for a minute.”

He wonders if this is what it’s like to sit down with a therapist, and Spartacus stumbles on the way down, hitting the step with a laugh. “How do you think they all met me?”

“I’m having a lot of trouble keeping my mouth shut lately.” 

“It’s good that you’re honest.”

_ Ha.  _

“I promise it’s safe. I’m not going to analyze you, we’re just talking.”

Nasir sighs and takes a seat on the front steps, one level down from the world’s buffest shrink. “My friend’s been telling me I need to see a professional for ages.” He lets his head fall back against the posts of the bannister. “I might as well.”

A broad hand comes to pat his knee—once, twice—and for once, he doesn’t mind the contact so much. 

“I get the feeling you’re not used to being around many people, socially. And I know that we can be…a lot. You’ve already been through more than your fair share, I think.” He frowns, and Nasir feels like he’s disappointed a parent. 

Therapists are  _ sneaky.  _

“Isn’t that true for everyone?”

“That’s why everyone should be in therapy.” Spartacus grins. “But we don’t all have the opportunity, so we form families of choice. This one picked me.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“It is. It’s a lot of noise, and commitment, and going out to find shitfaced people at 2 AM.” The man makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I’m worried that you’re not ready for that. I just want you to know that with or without Duro, you’re a person who deserves to have someone at their back, Nasir.”

“This sounds a lot like you’re trying to hit on me.” 

“That’s because your personal relationships are shitty, and we’ll work on that next session.” Spartacus looks him dead in the eye. “But no. I’m trying to tell you that I’m picking you. I’m on your team. You’re better than you think you are.  _ Fight me. _ ”

_ Damn it. _

A few moments later, the front door opens, and Naevia is arching a brow at them. “Were you just not coming in to dinner, or…?”

“Oh, no. Feed us. Please. We collapsed from hunger.” Spartacus’ smile is bright, and ridiculously infectious. 

As is Naevia’s when she turns it onto Nasir. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“Not me?”

“You’re about to monopolize my boyfriend for an entire evening doing dumb macho shit. Nasir is  _ mine. _ ”

That shouldn’t make him feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

-

Naevia sits him down in the middle of a loaded couch and pulls out a stack of photobooks. He looks between them and his host, trying to imagine her picking up a horde of children in a minivan.

She rolls her eyes. 

“Last year I got this brilliant idea to make everyone albums for the holidays, and then I got drunk and  _ these  _ happened.”

He reaches for the top volume and takes a look at the cover—

A picture of Lugo, stark naked, both fists raised over his head, and a costume viking helmet hiding his dick. Big white block letters curve around his feet:  **We Survived, Bitches.**

The women around him all look at him expectantly. 

“Where’d he get the helmet?”

Lugo grins, settled down in the loveseat with Saxa perched on the arm. “Good old fashioned fuck’ em up.”

“Someone at the Renaissance Festival invited Lugo to LARP with them. He hasn’t been asked back.” Saxa grins, like she’s proud of him, and taps her beer against his in a toast. 

Nasir can’t help but laugh and hurry to crack the book open. He has to see whatever photos made the lineup. 

The first page, starting out on a high note, features most of the men Nasir has very recently become acquainted with, plus several new...faces. Lined up. Asses bared to the camera. They’ve got their hands on each other’s hips, as if at any moment they’ll start doing a can-can.

“That was the polar swim.”

So now he has butts to match a bunch of faces. That’s always nice. 

“Is that a…”

“Crixus lost a bet with Agron. Don’t mention it.”

“I don’t think there  _ is  _ a situation where I’d feel comfortable mentioning it without a helmet.”

“Ooh, speaking of.” Mira flips a page or two and proudly displays a photo of Donar, dangling from a garden hose with a bicycle helmet on his head. He’s smiling, flashing the camera two thumbs up, and Spartacus is visibly trying to get him down. 

The picture after that is the busted window casing they anchored him from. 

“It turns out yelling, ‘Belay!’ doesn’t actually do shit.” Mira rolls her eyes. 

The next section is marked by a photo of a gaggle of baby chickens huddled together. And then another photo, same angle, of Spartacus’ smiling face emerging from the blanket of chicks. 

“How is this something he survived?”

“Oh, no. That was just cute. That same visit, Rhaskos pissed off a goose and it broke his arm.”

“That was less cute.” Sibyl sighs. 

Nasir turns the page and winces, quickly turning another. 

Huh. Crixus actually looks sort of cute when he’s sleeping. 

Next photo, same angle—there is a pizza box on his chest. 

Next photo, same angle—a Scrabble box on top of that. 

Then a world atlas. 

Then a throw pillow. 

Then a  _ cat.  _

Then Gannicus leaning into the frame to balance an empty can of PBR  _ on top  _ of the cat. 

Then the cat landing on Crixus’ face. 

And everything going flying. 

New shot, different angle, Crixus tackling Gannicus at the knees as he tries to escape.

He turns the next page, and Mira covers her face with her hands. “I did cheerleading for like five minutes in high school.”

And there she is, red-cheeked and beaming in the photo, organizing her friends into a wolf tower. 

Nasir already knows where this is going.  _ “Oh no. _ ”

In his head he can hear the ‘5, 6, 7, 8’ and then there’s a photo of about fifteen people, collapsed in a wide heap, regretting all of their life choices. 

“And then there was your boyfriend.”

As promised, next up is a photo of Duro driving a  _ tractor,  _ tongue out, throwing the horns with his right hand while he steers with his left. Always a good omen. 

“Please tell me the tractor stayed on the ground.”

“It did. Agron didn’t.”

The next shot is a live human being flying through the air toward…

“ _ Where did he land? _ ”

“It’s a Hillbilly Slingshot. Usually you’re aiming for a lake, but sometimes they shoot someone into a fucking forest.” 

He has a raging suspicion this one was Saxa’s idea. 

Lugo hugs her against his side, shaking her, and she nearly falls off her perch. “We die like men!”

“‘Whatever doesn’t kill you requires brief hospitalization.’” Nasir recites, and goes to turn the page again. 

“It was okay.” Sibyl flaps a hand at him, nearly spilling her Brass Monkey. There’s no way in hell she mixed that for herself. “He rolled.”

And then…

A photo of the most unjustly  _ beautiful  _ man he’s ever seen, smeared with dirt and grass stains, clasping palms with Duro. Their foreheads are pressed together, eyes bright and full of life. 

_ Agron. This is Agron.  _

“Dimples run in the family.”

There’s quiet for a second as everyone remembers that Nasir’s ‘boyfriend’ is in a coma. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been the center of a group hug before. If he survives Lugo’s squeezing, they can probably put a picture of it in the book. 

-

He is not expecting to  _ actually be  _ in their group photos, but as he’s circulated around the party, a staggering amount of people usher him into snapshots and selfies. 

There is a photo forever immortalized on Donar’s facebook of Lugo  _ actually benchpressing him.  _ Just because. 

At some point, loosened up by the alcohol that’s  _ just  _ alcohol, and the touch that’s  _ just  _ friendly, and the eager arms pulling him in for more stories, more bright eyes and kind smiles, he forgets to be nervous. 

He follows Sibyl into the kitchen to grab some cookies, and finds Spartacus leaning against the sink, nursing a cup of water. The man smiles at him gently, places a hand on his arm when he gravitates closer. 

“Are you holding up all right? The last time you were in a place this crowded…”

“I’m all right. Everyone here seems pretty trustworthy.”

Which is weird, because he just saw a book full of photographic evidence that they can’t be trusted  _ alone. _

The comforting hand tugs him in for a quick side-hug, rubbing his arm for warmth. “I’m glad. Go have more fun.” He places the glass of water into Nasir’s grip. “I think Donar has something for you.”

-

The  _ something  _ is apparently Duro’s jacket, left at Donar’s place ages ago. 

“The girls bothered me until I agreed to bring it over. Said it would tide you over until he could  _ hold  _ you again.” He clasps his hands at his cheek, flutters his eyelashes. 

Nasir grins, “How hard would Saxa punch you if I told her what you just did?”

“You wouldn’t do that, because you’re a kind and  _ benevolent  _ dictator who deserves...ice cream?” 

Nasir nods. 

“Ice cream it is.” Donar pushes him back into the crowd. “Go blackmail someone else.”

And Nasir goes, wearing his unboyfriend’s jacket. 

He’s going to notice the screaming sensation in his stomach later. 

-

Back at Chadara’s apartment, in the box full of Duro’s things, his cellphone rings with no one to answer. 

_ “Hey, babe. I hope you’re not having too much fun without me.” _

_...A sigh.  _

_ “Look, I know it was a stupid fight. I didn’t mean what I said. You just need time, and I’ve got it, okay? We don’t have to tell anyone about us until you’re ready. I just think it’s weird that your brother doesn’t…” _

_ “This isn’t why I called. I just want you to know that I’m thinking about you, and I love you, and I’m not going to stop loving you no matter how much we piss each other off. I’ll be home in a few days, and then I can show you how much I missed you. Bye, babe.” _

But no one notices it, because Nasir is nesting on Naevia’s couch, sleeping better than he has in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! 
> 
> We finally get to literal, physical Agron tomorrow.
> 
> A very large part of me was tempted to call this chapter 'Photographic Butt Memory.'


	4. Enter the Wrecking Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally hit Agron. 
> 
> ❤️️

Late evening, early morning, who knows—Agron lets himself in with the spare key Naevia insists on hiding in a ceramic pug’s ass. 

He heels his boots off, hangs up his jacket, and tries to head for the stairs as quietly as he can. It’s been a long week, and it’s only getting longer. His eyes burn, and his nerves are shot. 

He’s determined to get up to a guest bed, get some sleep, wake up far too early, and try again at the hospital. 

Exhaustion isn’t doing anyone any favors, least of all when he bumps directly into Mira, barefoot and small in the dim, moonlit entryway. “Did you get to see Duro?”

“By the time I got there, visiting hours were over, and I didn’t have it in me to sweet talk the nurses.” 

She reaches out to rub his arm, comforting. It doesn’t fix the burning pit of _tar_ in his stomach, but it does settle him a little. His eyes drift to the side, trying to think of what to say, because someone should say _something..._ and spots an unfamiliar blanket burrito on the couch, dark hair spilling from the comforter. 

“I feel like Crixus would cut off his own dick before letting Naevia sleep on the couch.”

Mira stifles a fit of giggles with her hand. “That’s _Nasir._ Duro’s boyfriend.”

“No.” Agron feels like someone slid a cold iron rod down his spine. “ _No._ He would have told me.”

“Would he have?” She bites her lip and crosses her arms, self-soothing. “Things with Duro have been strained for a while. He was trying to find himself, right? So I guess he...found Nasir.”

“‘Nasir.’ A guy.” Agron sits down hard on the bottom step, rubbing his eyes. “He’s dating a _guy_ and he didn’t tell _me?_ ”

Mira sits beside him, shifting onto the carpeted bit to keep the cold wood from nipping her thighs. “He’s a good guy, Agron.”

A snort. “How good can he be?”

“He saved Duro’s life. Well, Duro saved his first. That’s…” She makes a gesture that Agron can’t figure out. “The hospital, you know?”

Nasir got his baby brother to the hospital. 

Duro could have _died_ if it weren’t for the surprise boyfriend he didn’t tell them about. 

“It was some real knight in shining armor stuff, Agron. Some assholes drugged him and got him outside and Duro charged in and started throwing punches. One of them got him with a _pipe._ ”

“ _That_ sounds about right.” Agron drops his hand, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment like he can will the headache away. “Son of a bitch.”

“You or Duro?” Mira chirps, and leans _with_ the following shove. “It’s going to be okay, Agron. Duro’s a fighter.”

“Duro’s a _dumbass_.” Agron says, cursing the way his voice cracks. “I need him to wake up.”

He lets Mira rub circles over the back of his shirt for a while before she guides him upstairs. 

# -

He’s sitting in almost the same spot early the next morning, cradling a cup of Crixus’ awful coffee as he listens to the man—to Duro’s _boyfriend_ —wake up in the living room.

There are fifteen conversations they should probably have, and Agron tells himself he can manage _most_ of them without swearing his head off…

But then Nasir tiptoes into the entryway past the stairs, and the inside of his head is just...white noise. 

Nasir is _beautiful._

“Good morning.” He says, like an idiot, and watches the smaller man nearly jump out of his skin. 

“ _Shit._ You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nasir takes a deep breath, straightens what Agron recognizes as his brother’s jacket— _that_ stings—and looks at him with the prettiest brown eyes he’s ever seen. “Good morning, Agron.”

“We haven’t met.”

“I’ve heard stories.”

From Duro. Agron’s brother. The boyfriend that he has. 

_In a coma_. 

“Oh, damn. Which ones?”

“Well,” Nasir smiles. “There was the hillbilly slingshot.”

Agron winces. 

“So you know that I’m a _dummkopf._ That’s, uh...not great.”

“I know that you love your brother. That’s at least a point for you.” He startles again at the sound of a horn honking outside. “That’s probably my Uber.”

He turns to leave, and Agron should say something. Something nice. 

_He saved Duro’s life_.

“Nasir,” He says. “Welcome to the family.”

“I…thanks.” Nasir nods, eyes downcast, and slips out the front door. 

-

Chadara finds Nasir face down on her couch, screaming into a throw pillow at 11 AM. 

She pats his ass comfortingly and leaves a cup of coffee on the table. 

# -

There’s something special about a friendship that withstands repeated punches to the face. Agron’s always thought so, always valued the ability to talk over his concerns and frustrations while also physically venting them. 

Being certified as a therapist just made Spartacus the total package. 

“So who _is_ Nasir?”

“Your brother’s boyfriend.” Spartacus frowns, holding up a paddle for Agron to strike at. 

“Right. But you’d think if Duro actually _found_ somebody, he wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. He’d have taken out an ad on Facebook or something.”

A short, fast series of punches. 

“You’re upset that he didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I’m upset! I’m his _brother_ . His _gay brother._ Of all the people he _could_ tell—”

He lands a hit hard enough to leave Spartacus shaking out his hand before they continue. 

“ _How didn’t I know about this?!_ How the _fuck_ could he not _tell me_ ? So we argued. So he wanted to live his own damn life _away from me—_ he has a fucking _phone._ ”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

Agron stops short. Frowns. 

There are also _downsides_ to a sparring partner certified as a therapist. 

“All right, fine. What’s _really_ bothering me?”

“That you didn’t get a chance to fix things _before_ Duro ended up in the hospital, and you’re not certain you’ll get a chance _now._ You’re not angry at _him,_ Agron. You’re angry at _yourself._ ”

He slumps. 

Okay. 

_Son of a bitch,_ but okay. 

“He’s my baby brother. I only ever wanted him to be _okay_ . And now he’s about as far from it as you can _get_ without biting the dust. He’s always getting into these _stupid fucking fights_ that he _can’t fucking win_.”

“This time he was fighting to _protect_ someone. Nasir says he took out two guys before the third blindsided him.”

“Is that supposed to make it better? I should’ve been there watching his back. This could’ve been it, and I wasn’t there because I smothered him so much he’d rather bleed out alone in some shitty alley.”

“He wasn’t alone. Nasir was there.”

 _“Again_ with the boyfriend.”

“I think it’d be a good idea for you to get to know him. He blames himself, too.”

“Are you trying to support group me?”

“Human contact is _good_ for human beings. I shouldn’t have to keep explaining this.”

“He used to tell me everything. He used to follow me _everywhere_ . And now I can’t even tell him I miss him because he’s...like that. I want to be _mad_ at this new guy, but I can’t, because this is exactly the kind of shit Duro _does_.”

Spartacus winces and starts stripping off the paddles. “I’d like to hug you.”

“ _Fine._ ”

“Don’t punch me.”

“I said _fine._ ”

“He’s going to be okay. The doctors say he’s showing improvement every day. When he wakes up, you can work your shit out together.”

Agron huffs and lets himself hug Spartacus back. 

“You’re not doing this alone, dumbass.”

They sit on the floor, still half-wrapped up, and watch as Crixus drops Lugo, only for Lugo and Saxa to jump on top of him like playground equipment. 

He falls like a stack of bricks, swearing his head off. 

Agron sighs. “I want him to be part of this.”

-

Coming off the night shift so abruptly is not a comfortable experience. It takes him a while to gather himself, shower, and change. 

Chadara is not one to wait. 

When he comes back to the living room where he’s built his nest, he finds her pawing through Duro’s wallet. 

“I know you’re not rolling a _coma patient._ ”

“Technically, he’s not—”

“Don’t be a sociopath. Put it back.”

She rolls her eyes, begging some god of good humor to help her friend. “I’m not taking his _money._ Ugh. The man has a punch card for Jamba Juice. And a cat, apparently.”

She holds up a crumpled, mostly-empty bag of cat treats. 

Oh, crap.

-

Agron doesn’t know _why_ he takes the time to track down Nasir’s address.

Maybe it’s the desire to know _more_ about the person that finally saw through all of Duro’s noise and posturing to the ridiculous marshmallow inside. 

Maybe it’s the constant, itching sensation that the man needs company. 

Maybe it’s because _he_ does. 

But whatever the reason, he’s still here, outside Nasir’s apartment complex, watching a bunch of shady assholes guard a very nice car. 

Something about this isn’t right. 

He takes the opportunity to duck inside after holding the door for a woman juggling a baby and diaper bag, and double checks the unit number. 

4A

He takes the stairs up to the fourth floor, only to find the door to 4A ajar. He hears footsteps approaching, and fixes his eyes forward, reaching into his pocket for keys that won’t open any of these doors. 

A hell of a lot less suspicious than bolting back down the stairs.

He’s almost past 4A when a blond man wearing designer sunglasses and a blazer shoulders his way out through the open door. And stops short. “Hello.” He says, a winning smile sliding across his grim mouth like oil over water. “Maybe you can help me.”

 _Oh,_ **_can_ ** _I?_

Agron plasters on a smile of his own. “May be.”

“Do you live here?”

“4C. What’s up?”

“Are you familiar with the man who lives here?”

“...Na..sir, right? Short guy, dark hair?”

“That’s him.” The smile widens. “I’m his boyfriend. I haven’t heard from him in a few days, and I’m worried.”

 _Sorry,_ **_what?_ **

“Is he not in?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up.” Agron shrugs. “Hey, if I see him, I’ll tell him you stopped by.” 

Caesar shifts, and Agron keeps his eyes up, away from the _gun_ tucked into his waistband. “I appreciate that…”

“Agron.”

“ _Agron._ ” The blond tilts his head, giving him a once over behind those stupid shades. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He watches as the man pulls the door to 4A shut behind him and heads down the stairs. 

_Who the fuck needs a_ **_gun_ ** _to visit their boyfriend?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He probably shouldn't get involved. 
> 
> Right?
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing 'aggressively emotionally supported' Agron.  
> XD


	5. A Specialization in Herding People and Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we get both of our boys in one room for more than three minutes.

Duro lives in a surprisingly cozy third-floor walkup.

The way his friends talk, Nasir expects a punching bag in the living room, but there are  _ quilts _ thrown over the couch. 

It feels warm and lived in, like the person who lives here has  _ roots _ . He can’t help but feel a tiny sting of jealousy. It’s been a very long time since he had a family to feel safe around. 

There are photos on the walls of friends and loved ones, Duro and Agron, and—

Oh, shit. 

Duro has a boyfriend. 

The man is built like a brick shithouse—at least 30% ab—with a big smile and no shirt, standing in a pool with Duro, a slightly leaner brick shithouse, perched on his shoulders holding a beer. 

The man is looking up at Duro like he’s the whole entire sun. 

_ I’m a  _ **_bastard._ **

But he still needs to find the damn cat. 

-

Agron doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he heads up to his brother’s apartment, but it’s not a muffled  _ kikikikikiki _ noise meandering through the place. 

He follows the sound only to have a door opened  _ directly into his face _ .

“Shit!”

“ _ Shit! _ I’m so sorry! Agron?”

“ _ Ow. _ ”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I was going to grab one of Oma’s quilts for Duro.”

“I’m—no, hey. Come...come here. Let me…” Nasir leads Agron into the kitchen, snapping a dish towel off the handle of the oven and popping the freezer open. He glances between the ice bin and Agron clutching at his face. “I’m so sorry.”

And there’s Duro’s stockpile of  _ Rock ‘N Pop Swirl.  _ Some things never change. 

“It’s okay. I only need it to smell and taste.”

Nasir looks panicked. 

“It’s a joke! A joke!” 

“Please hold still and stop trying to be funny.” Nasir frowns, holding the bag of ice up to his stinging nose. He supports it himself, and the other man draws away. 

“So...you come here a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you get in?”

“I have a key.” Nasir holds it up. “I feed the cat.”

Agron frowns. “Duro doesn’t have a cat.”

And as if summoned by magic, a throaty  _ mow _ threads through from below. 

“Is that—” 

Nasir hurries to sweep the sentient dust mop off the floor and into his arms. “Hey...Ludwig. You must be so hungry.”

_ Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow.  _

Nasir pops open a can of wet food and lets the purring allergen eat right on top of the counter. Agron’s thinking about maybe saying something, but then his phone rings. 

“Are you gonna take that?”

-

It’s the hospital. 

Apparently, it’s customary for friends and family to give blood. 

“Let’s go together.” Agron says, and Nasir kind of wants to. 

But he can’t, can he?

“I’ll go with you, but I can’t give blood.” He sighs, locking the door behind them on the way out. He’ll have to come check on  _ Ludwig _ later. He’s just glad he located the  _ cat food  _ before Agron showed up. 

“Afraid of needles?”

“Recently drugged.”

Agron hisses. “Right. Mira mentioned.”

“Hm.”

“For the record, I’m...I’m pissed that this happened. All of it. But I’m glad you’re alright. No doubt Duro would’ve lost his shit if anything happened to you.”

_ Would he have? _

The ride to the hospital is mostly quiet, save the old rock murmuring through Agron’s stereo. 

-

Nasir sits on the neighboring cot, feet dangling over the floor as the nurse prepares to draw the necessary vials of blood. 

The German makes a show of flexing his bared arm and making dumb straining noises. Nasir can’t help but laugh. He’s almost  _ charming _ , which only makes all of this even more awkward. 

“We’ll have to get a picture for the mantel.”

“Of me?” Nasir blushes. 

“No! Of you and Duro.” Agron laughs, then bites his tongue. “Not that you’re bad yourself.”

“I’m not that photogenic.”

“Bullshit.”

The nurse hands him a cup of something brightly colored. “Now I want you to sit here and sip this, or you’ll get woozy.”

“Sure.” Agron agrees. “...How did he not crow about you? He always used to, with pretty girls. And you’re—” 

The blush gets worse. 

Agron looks at him for a minute, clearly trying to work something out in his own head. “My brother used to tell me  _ everything _ . And usually I’d listen, but sometimes I’d laugh and tell him to shut up. And I regret  _ every single time _ now.”

He takes a deep breath, and Nasir mimes for him to take another sip. He does. 

“I know it pissed him off that I was so involved in his life, but we’re  _ it  _ for each other. We’re what’s left, and the idea of not knowing where he was or whether he was safe drove me batshit. He could only ever be safe if I could  _ see him  _ and know he was okay.”

…

“Spartacus says that was probably unhealthy.”

“Did he say ‘probably’?”

“Definitely. It was definitely unhealthy.  _ Shit. _ ”

“I wish...I wish I could be close with my brother like Duro is with you.” 

“You have a brother?” There’s an odd sort of hope in Agron’s eyes, like this means that Nasir might understand, might have some answers. 

“Older. I haven’t seen Salim in...a very long time.”

Caesar had him on too tight a leash for that. 

“Must drive him crazy.”

“I hope not. I…”

He remembers Salim  _ screaming his name _ . 

He  _ hopes not.  _

He’s been so damn stupid. 

“Duro wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up like this.”

“I can’t help it.” Agron takes another sip. “Our Oma told me to take care of him. That it was _ my  _ job. I just...don’t know when I got so caught up on that I stopped letting him be a  _ person _ . He couldn’t tell me who he  _ was _ because I was so busy keeping him my baby brother.”

He laughs, but the sound is wet and ugly. Rubs his knuckles over his eyes to clear them. 

“I coddled my brother so much that he decided to  _ hide  _ from me out of  _ spite. _ ”

“The world’s a big place. Sometimes, when something is new, we have to figure it out before we share it. We have to get our feet under us. You can’t show someone who you are until you’re done finding out.”

Nasir thinks of the picture of Auctus and Duro, happy and sunburnt and  _ smiling _ . 

“But I don’t live in his head. He didn’t talk to me about it, so I...I think you should talk to  _ him _ . When he wakes up.”

“Will he want to talk to me?”

_ Nearly getting murdered tends to change people’s minds about things like that.  _

“Are you going to give up if he doesn’t?”

“Hell no. He’s not getting rid of me this time.”

“He’s lucky, then.” Nasir smiles. For once, he doesn’t feel so bitter about it. But then…

“You know, I went by your apartment but you weren’t home. Some guy named Caesar was.”

Nasir’s heart slams into his throat. 

_ No no no no no.  _

“You didn’t talk to him.” 

“I did.” Agron frowns. 

“ _ Did he get your name? _ ”

“Yes.”

“ _ Shit. _ ”

“Who is he?”

Deep breath. “My ex. He’s not a good person. You shouldn’t have given him your name.”

Those impossible moss green eyes narrow, like he’s parsing out secrets. “...Duro wanted to save you, didn’t he? He was trying to get you out.”

_ Technically _ yes. 

“That dumbass kept you a secret because he wanted to save you himself.”

_ No.  _

“Tough shit. He’s got help now.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna help you work this shit out.”

“ **_No_ ** .” Nasir hisses. “No, there’s not going to be any ‘working this out.’ I’m a big boy, just like you and Duro. I can handle my own mess. I’m asking you, as a favor to  _ me _ , not to look into this. Stay away from Caesar. Your brother’s already in a coma,  _ it’s not your problem.” _

Agron shakes his head. “I won’t take no for an answer. I won’t stick my neck out like an idiot, fine, but I’m going to make sure you’re safe.” 

He reaches across the gap between the hospital beds and pats Nasir awkwardly on the knee. 

He thinks back to the mob of friends in Duro’s life, aggressively comforting him and making promises that  _ no one  _ should make to a stranger like him. 

Thinks of being surrounded and warm on the couch, photo albums spread out before him with no pictures of him— _ yet.  _

Thinks of all the love he hasn’t earned that these people seem so eager to offer. 

_ Oh.  _ Nasir thinks.  _ He  _ **_is_ ** _ one of them. _

-

So naturally, Nasir moves in with his non-boyfriend’s impossibly attractive older brother. 

That’s a normal thing that people do. 

There are even more pictures here, and he’s starting to feel awkward about not displaying any in his apartment. Really, there’s not much of  _ anything  _ in his apartment. He’s spent years dividing himself between work and Caesar, nursing hangovers and egos.

It’s a hell of a thing to realize you’ve been abused, and another to accept that this is probably your most realistic option and go back for another shift. 

But he’s not, tonight. 

He’s standing in Agron Richter’s apartment, looking at a photo of the man and his brother, beaming at the camera with matching ridiculous smiles. The only thing missing is a noogie. 

And also Duro, conscious and wondering who the fuck is crashing at his older brother’s apartment. 

“How has he been lately?”

“Oh. What?”

“Duro. Has he been driving you nuts? Probably sleeping in now that he doesn’t have to worry about getting dragged out of bed for a run every morning.” He laughs a bit, but it’s more self deprecating than anything.

“He misses you.” Nasir says. Not because he knows it, but because Duro  _ should _ . And because it makes this ridiculous stubborn disaster of a man  _ smile _ . 

Nasir says ‘he misses you,’ because  _ he  _ would. 

Which is probably not a good sign. 

_ Shit. _

-

The evening only gets worse. 

There is an actual twenty-minute argument over which of them will take the couch, which somehow culminates in Nasir diving for it and Agron catching him over his shoulder and physically restraining him so that he can spread out on it first. 

“ _It’s your house!_ _Why would I take the bed?!_ ” He finds himself _laughing,_ and he can’t understand why. It’s becoming very apparent that ‘stubborn’ is an understatement when it comes to Agron. 

“Because you’ve been through a bunch of shit recently, and I want to do something  _ nice. _ ”

_ Uggggh.  _

“You already  _ are.”  _ Nasir slaps him on the back. “You’ve all been very nice, but I can’t just keep taking from you.”

Agron pauses for a moment, completely quiet. He drums his fingers on Nasir’s hip before picking him up like he weighs _ nothing _ and setting him back on his feet. He looks upset. “You’re not taking anything I don’t want to give, all right?”

Nasir frowns. 

“You saved his life—”

“I’m the reason he was in danger.”

“If it wasn’t you, it’d be something else. Duro getting the shit beaten out of him is another Tuesday. Someone giving enough of a shit about him to keep him alive is important to me, okay?”

He wants to object, but Agron looks like he might be about to start yelling, and he can’t help but flinch. 

Something in Agron’s expression  _ shatters  _ and he reaches out to rest his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t feel like that. Ever. You shouldn’t be afraid. I  _ hate  _ that. I guess he did, too.”

“I guess you’re alike that way.” Nasir can’t help but laugh a little. 

These men are wrecking balls, but somehow impossibly, stupidly kind. 

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“ _ No. _ ”

-

A few hours later, Nasir is leaning against the bedroom doorway, watching Agron fluff the pillow beneath his head. 

“You’re pouting.” Agron grins, sprawled out like a pleased cat. “Sore loser?”

“I’m sleeping in the bed. How is this a victory for you?”

He shrugs. “Gives me the satisfaction of doing a good deed.”

“That’s good.  _ Because I feel like a monster. _ ”

Agron goes quiet again, looking at him with those ridiculous green eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“And you’re celebrating by condemning yourself to a night of back pain. That’s reasonable.”

“I miss the company,” Agron smiles. “It’s quiet without my dumbass brother around. Well, maybe not such a dumbass if he managed to date  _ you. _ ”

Did he just hallucinate, or is Agron  _ flirting  _ with him?

…

Nope. Big dumb dimpled grin. 

Definitely flirting.

It’s been  _ ages _ since anyone’s flirted with him, let alone so innocently. No one’s been dumb enough to cross Caesar. And then  _ Duro  _ was, and now here they all are. 

“You know...everyone assumed that Duro was being stupid. Like—of course he got hurt, that’s what he does, getting wasted and picking fights. But I see a hundred assholes just like that every week, and none of them are like Duro. He’s  _ kind. _ ”

_ Like you,  _ he thinks.

“He’s got a smile that lights up the room and you just can’t wipe it off his face.”

He remembers just that—the smile slipping and Duro dropping hard. Caesar behind him with the pipe… 

_ You’re all right, Little Man _

But Agron is smiling at him, and the resemblance is unmistakable. 

“I’m grateful you raised someone dumb enough to save someone like me.” 

Agron doesn’t get a chance to argue.

He gave up the room with a door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke is that Agron has about 4 Cups of Confidence and Nasir has 1 Tablespoon.
> 
> Boy needs like twelve hugs and an Excedrin.


	6. Coping Skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some are a little healthier than others.

Nasir wakes up reluctantly, wrapped in soft sheets and comfortable pillows, but the smell of pancakes is both unusual and  _ insanely tempting.  _ He rolls onto his back and takes a moment to burrow down further,  _ really _ thinking about whether or not he wants to leave the new love of his life. 

In the end, he pads into the kitchen to find Agron, shirtless and whistling while he cracks eggs into a saucepan. 

“I smell pancakes.”

“And bacon, hashbrowns, and poached eggs over toast.” Agron looks over one muscular shoulder and grins. “Good morning.”

“I feel like I slept over at a Denny’s. Don’t go out of your way for me.”

“Who says I’m going out of my way?”

“You eat like this every morning?”

“I own a gym, and I work with Lugo.”

“Lugo works?” Nasir blinks. “I thought he just went marauding through the streets challenging people to fights.”

“Nope, he charges for it. I fill out his W-2.”

Nasir tries hard to imagine Lugo paying  _ taxes,  _ but sits obediently when Agron points him toward a chair. 

He only realizes that he’s  _ starving  _ when Agron sets a plate down in front of him, and he doesn’t even hesitate to smash open that gooey orange-yellow egg yolk. It’s  _ porn,  _ and he won’t be ashamed. 

He only realizes that his host is watching him intently, elbows propped on the table, chin resting on the backs of his hands. Agron’s fork dangles from his grip, but he hasn’t actually taken a bite. 

He’s too busy watching Nasir stuff his face. 

“I’m being rude.”

“No, no. I cooked for you. I’m glad you like it. Just wondering where you put it all.”

Nasir squints at him. “Is that a short joke?”

“I don’t want egg in my hair, so I’m gonna say no.” Another stupid dimpled smile.

“People don’t usually cook like this for me.” Nasir fidgets with his own fork, cutting his sausage into tiny pieces. 

“They should.”

Oh, look. The blush is back. 

“You have a hard time accepting help, huh?”

Nasir doesn’t answer. It hits too close to  _ completely accurate.  _

“I was the same way before I met Spartacus. Thought I could do everything by myself.”

“Are you saying you  _ can’t _ ?” Nasir teases, but the look on Agron’s face is suddenly very serious. 

“It’s easier with help. Hurts less. It took me a while to get that—it’s  _ okay  _ for it to hurt less.” 

_ Oh.  _

Things are quiet between them for several minutes, all talk replaced with the scraping of forks on plates. 

Agron stacks Nasir’s on top of his own once he’s finished. “Do you have a job or something to get to?”

“Ah...no.”

“In that case, it just happens to be Take Your Brother’s Boyfriend to Work Day.”

Nasir can’t help but laugh. “Did that sound smooth in your head?”

“You wanna stay here all day?”

“Let me change!”

-

Rebel Fitness is Agron’s baby. 

He’s only been in business for a few years, but the hard work has all been worth it. The smile on Duro’s face when he’d burst in, keys in hand, and yelled, “ _ Guess who the bank thought was fucking respectable?! _ ” is one he won’t ever forget. 

He couldn’t have done it alone. 

Even  _ Crixus  _ helped get this place in order, and deep down, the voice that sounds suspiciously like Spartacus regularly reminds him that it’s not a debt he has to repay. 

The gym is spacious and clean, boasting modern equipment, a boxing ring, and soft mats for wrestling. 

Saxa spent one drunken night on Amazon with Gannicus, and while they don’t  _ advertise  _ it, there are axes and throwing targets tucked into the back. 

Speaking of his friends doing stupid shit, Lugo perks up as soon as he spots them, outright dropping Donar to the mats and jogging over like a dog eager for a car ride. “You come, Little Man!”

“Nasir.” The shorter man reminds him. “Still Nasir.”

Lugo manages to shake his head with the force of his hair ruffling. “Yes! We teach you to defend your man!”

Nasir bites his lip, looking conflicted. 

“Don’t overthink it.” Agron elbows him. “Can’t hurt to learn wrestling from a bear.”

“Rargh.” Lugo adds. 

Somehow it helps, because Nasir rolls his eyes and follows them onto the floor. 

-

Nasir is in good physical condition, but he obviously doesn’t do much training. He gets winded quickly, but he pushes through as Lugo shows him different blocks and punches, grapples and ways to get out of them. 

He’s doing really well, and Agron feels a completely unjustified swell of pride. It was a shot in the dark, assuming the other man would get the same sort of stress relief out of throwing a few punches, but it’s paying off. 

His skin is damp with sweat, but he’s smiling. 

Until Lugo pins him and places a hand over his throat. 

Agron watches, unable to react quickly enough as Nasir’s pupils  _ eat  _ his irises and he spits out a wicked hissing noise. His legs wrap around Lugo’s waist and he lashes out with a  _ hard  _ right hook before rolling them over with his momentum. 

He’s not play fighting now. 

Lugo starts to laugh—thinks it’s a game, maybe—but Nasir doesn’t let up. He stuns Lugo with another blow to the head and he moves to go for the  _ eyes  _ before Agron manages to drag him off. 

“Nasir!” He calls. “Nasir— _ shit! _ ” And catches an elbow to the face. 

And then Spartacus is there, pulling Agron away and pushing him towards Lugo. “Everybody back!”

Agron has no clue  _ why  _ this is happening, but he’s not about to question the actual fucking therapist, considering the look in Nasir’s eyes right now. 

He’s breathing hard, and he looks  _ terrified,  _ but he doesn’t move in to do any more damage. Spartacus stands across from him, urging him to breathe, to remember that he’s not in danger. 

He’s safe here. 

He’s safe. 

It takes about half an hour before Nasir is comfortable meeting Lugo’s eyes again, but the big lug is already smiling. 

“I’m so sorry, Lugo.”

“What for?” Lugo smiles in a way that would hurt anyone else’s face, and reaches out, awaiting Nasir’s nod to clasp his shoulder. “You fight like lion!”

“I shouldn’t have…” He taps his cheek, where his nails scratched during his attempt on Lugo’s eyes. “You weren’t hurting me.”

_ But someone did.  _

What the  _ fuck  _ was Duro rescuing him from?

-

The ride back to Agron’s place is very quiet. 

Nasir wracks his brain for something to say. Another apology for almost landing  _ another  _ of Agron’s loved ones in the hospital, maybe. 

Agron stares out at the road, grip tight on the wheel, jaw set firm. 

“I’m really—”

“ _ Don’t. _ ”

…

“If you apologize again, I’ll black out or something.  _ Fuck _ . Who the  _ fuck  _ did that to you?”

Nasir doesn’t need to answer. Doesn’t think he could.

Agron shakes his head, quick and furious. “No. No, don’t tell me. It’s your business. You don’t have to tell me shit. Spartacus—you could talk to him.”

“He offered.” Nasir allows, quietly. “I’ve never had a therapist. I think I need one. That wasn’t…”

“That was an instinct. You did that to protect yourself because it’s happened to you before, right?” 

More silence. 

“ _ It’s not going to happen again. _ ”

Agron reaches out for Nasir’s hand, and he can’t think of a single thing but to give it, palm up, and watch as Agron curls his fingers into a fist. 

Nasir believes him. 

-

Agron has healthy coping mechanisms. 

When his temper starts to itch and build, he has breathing exercises that Spartacus taught him. 

When those start to choke and sputter in his chest, he has his friend’s number. He can call and talk, or they can beat the hell out of each other at the gym. 

There’s always someone at the gym, up for venting out some of that rage in a productive way. 

They know Agron. 

They know how to help Agron. 

But failing all of that, he used to be able to go to Duro. 

He could  _ never  _ hurt Duro. 

His little brother knew how to turn him, deprive the flame of oxygen, rope him back into his skin. Whatever stupid metaphor worked. 

But now Duro is out cold, wrapped up in wires and heavy hospital blankets, and all Agron can do is hold the hand without needles in it and count the veins. 

“I should be updating you on the shit you’re missing.” He sighs. “Keep talking to you. They say it’s good to talk to you.”

His laughter is rough. 

“I haven’t talked to you in  _ months,  _ what the hell is it going to do  _ now _ ?”

Deep breath. Another. 

“You’ve been trying to protect him all by yourself. Didn’t want to get any of us involved, and now you’re  _ here _ . You’re here, and he’s having an  _ episode  _ in my gym because of whatever shit you’re both involved in that you couldn’t tell your  _ fucking brother  _ about.”

“And I want to resent you for it, but then I turn around and he’s  _ smiling  _ like a kid at Christmas over some stupid thing, and I  _ get it _ . I just…I want to help you keep him safe, Duro. He deserves to feel safe.”

_ He deserves the world.  _

“I drove you away. I could have  _ helped  _ you, but I drove you away. You thought it was because I didn’t want you to be your own person, but that’s bullshit. I was just scared of finding out who  _ I  _ was once you left.”

“It’s me. I’m this guy. And right now it  _ sucks. _ ”

He squeezes his brother’s cool fingers, then moves to tuck them under the blanket. Reaches up to brush a bit of hair from Duro’s face. 

“But I’d still kill for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this enough angst? 
> 
> xux


	7. Can You Fall Awake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, but important. <3

“Spartacus texted me.” Nasir says, about twenty minutes after Agron shuffles in the door and slumps down next to him on the couch. 

The TV is off. 

Nasir never had much time to watch it at his place. It seemed pointless, but Chadara insisted it was _ creepy _ not to have one. 

“It’s too late now. They’re Involved.” Agron laughs a little bitterly at the ceiling. 

Nasir tilts his head back, too. 

“They like you.”

It’s a novel experience, to be liked with all his clothes on.

-

“So,” Agron says. “You want to get piss drunk?”

And Nasir opens his eyes and says, “ _ Please. _ ”

-

So Agron provides the alcohol, and Nasir provides the good company, and between them it’s almost not a complete disaster of a day. 

They turn on the TV to some insipid cooking show where a chef is struggling to plate food in a ballpit, and end up sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by a haphazard pile of couch cushions, Nasir’s head pillowed on Agron’s stomach. 

Nasir’s hair is so soft. 

Wow. 

“Hey.” Agron says. “Hey, I want to apologize for earlier.”

Nasir hums at him. 

“Shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

“You were protecting your friend.”

“You’re my friend, too.”

Nasir actually  _ smiles  _ at that, turning to look up at Agron. “The friend who was about to lose an eye.”

“Would you really have…?”

Nasir holds up both thumbs in what Agron assumes is gouging position. “Absolutely.”

“Have you done it before?”

“I’ve wanted to.”

“Shit you really do need therapy.”

A rasping laugh. “Fuck you.”

“Hey, I do too.” He tangles his fingers in the loose, silky mass of the smaller man’s hair. 

“Everyone should be in therapy.”

“You sound like Spartacus.”

“Good, because he said it.”

Agron hums. “No one should touch you without your permission. Spartacus was right to make us back off. And I shouldn’t have snapped at you in the car.”

For a moment, there’s quiet. Then, “I wasn’t scared. I think I was happy, really. People don’t usually get angry  _ for  _ me.”

“Then I’m glad Duro found you.”

Nasir turns his head back to the ceiling, closes his eyes. “You really shouldn’t be. I’m a nuisance.”

“So’s he. So are all of us. You don’t have to be a saint to deserve nice things.”

The smaller man pushes his head back further, like he can sink into Agron and disappear. “You’re too nice to me. All of you are. For all you know, I could be a terrible person, and Duro  _ could  _ just be an idiot.”

“He  _ is _ an idiot, but he’s an idiot with good taste. A terrible person wouldn’t defend him like you do.”

Another stretch of silence. 

“I didn’t defend him. I couldn’t even  _ move.  _ I saw him swing that pipe and I couldn’t do a thing.”

“Except stay with him. He’s alive now because of it.”

The quiet goes on. 

-

An hour or so later, the buzz faint and mildly pleasant and the couch cushions restored to their rightful places, Agron goes to climb into his nest when Nasir stops him. 

“Would you sleep with me?”

He nearly slides right off the furniture. 

“What?”

“Sleep in the bed. Next to me.”

“I, uh...don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It isn’t. I rarely have them. But I don’t want to be alone.”

Agron scowls. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop  _ talking  _ about yourself like you’re worthless. You’re smart and funny, and you can see through my brother’s bullshit to the gooey dumbass center.”

Nasir stares at him unblinking. “Duro.” He says. “Did you ever let  _ Duro _ sleep in your bed when there were thunderstorms and he was afraid? Salim used to do that for me. He said there were lions in the sky, and when it rained they came out to play. Stupid stories like that. Did you tell Duro?”

“When he had nightmares…”

“Imagine that I’ve just come out of a very long nightmare. Imagine that I’m a dumb kid who needs to know the sky’s not falling down.”

“It’s not.”

“It  _ feels  _ like it.”

-

So Agron follows Nasir to the bedroom, and they slide under the cool covers to lie on their sides, face to face. The sound of the A/C humming, soft breathing, Nasir’s eyes damp and shining in the dark. 

He wonders if they’ll be sick tomorrow. 

“Don’t leave me alone.”

There’s nothing else for it. He pulls the smaller man into his arms and presses his lips to the top of his soft, dark hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here until Duro wakes up.”

-

But that’s exactly what Nasir is afraid of.

-

The next day, by some miracle, neither of them are too hungover. 

Agron makes a nice breakfast and Nasir joins him at the gym again, which is a little concerning. 

“Don’t worry about me.” He says. “I’ll be alright.”

And for the next few days with Lugo, Donar, Crixus, and Saxa—anyone who will try him on the mats— he tries to learn all that he can so that he  _ will be.  _

Agron smiles as he smears ointment on the bruises. 

-

And then, the week after, while Nasir is checking in with Chadara, Agron gets a call from the hospital: 

Duro is awake. 

-

Agron used to run a lot. 

Still does, sometimes. 

Helps with endurance and taking time to center himself in his own skin. It’s very meditative. 

But it usually doesn’t involve dodging irate nurses on the way to his little brother’s hospital room. And there he is— _ there Duro is _ —looking tired and smiling a dopey smile, crunching on ice chips. 

The nurse—Laeta—looks like she’s going to break her face smiling. 

“Can you…” Agron chokes. “Can you call Spartacus? I’m uh—”

“Of course.” She smiles, and leaves them to it. 

-

For a while, Agron just  _ stares  _ at him, content to take in the sight of him moving, the sound of him answering questions for the medical staff. 

The way he’s  _ alive  _ and  _ conscious _ and not lying stiff in those stupid scratchy blankets. He forgets everything else for a while, until Duro settles back in the pillows and smiles at him again. 

“I’m sore everywhere.”

“You’ve been on your back for over a week.”

“That’s what—”

“Shut up.” Agron snipes, reflexively. Then chokes again. “No. No, keep talking.  _ Fuck. _ ”

Duro reaches out over the blankets, fingers waggling until Agron grips his hand. 

“I missed you so much.”

“It’s only been like a week.”

“It’s been longer than that, asshole. And that’s...that’s my fault.”

Duro frowns. 

“We met your boyfriend.” 

Agron can  _ feel  _ his brother go tense. 

“I’m not mad. ...Okay, I _am_ mad, but I’m mad at _me._ I can’t believe I got so damn controlling that you felt like you couldn’t live your life. Like you couldn’t come out to _me._ **_Me_**. Have you met a gayer idiot?”

Duro tries to laugh, and ends up coughing until Agron feeds him more ice chips. 

“But we met him, and he’s great. Everybody loves him. There was an incident at the gym the other day, but we all want to help. I think Nasir’s going to talk things over with Spartacus.”

“Cool.” Duro says. “Who’s Nasir?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Durooooooo. 
> 
> If anyone's on Discord and feels like chatting, I'm Elpie#3347


	8. Problem Solving, With Blunt Force Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it really count as conflict if it's _very, very short_?
> 
> These chapter divisions don't make for a great deal of suspense.

Nasir shows up a few hours later, winded from the aggressive speed walk after Chadara dropped him off. 

Of course the second he turned his phone off for a bit, all hell would break loose. 

Various texts from Naevia, Mira, Spartacus,  _ and  _ Crixus informed him that he should make his way to the hospital immediately if not sooner. 

Duro is awake. 

He slips in quietly, standing just outside the door as a pair of nurses try very hard to explain to the mob  _ once more  _ that there is a  _ limit  _ to how many people can be in this room at once. 

More chattering. Yelling. Saxa’s just yelling ‘shit’ over and over. 

Mira sounds like she’s convincing everyone  _ but  _ herself to be calm. “This is...this is normal with head trauma. It’s alright. It’ll all come back to him over time. He’s been through a lot.”

“Really.” A voice that Nasir has already begun to forget creaks from disuse. “I promise, I’ve never met anyone named Nasir.”

“What kind of asshole forgets  _ just  _ his boyfriend? You can remember you ate Froot Loops for dinner, but not being in a committed fucking relationship?”

Crixus actually sounds offended on his behalf. 

_ Oh boy. _

“I  _ am  _ in a committed relationship!  **_With Auctus_ ** ! I remember our anniversary and everything.  _ Who the hell is Nasir? _ ”

“It’s okay.” Mira says. “ _ This is normal. _ ”

“ **_No it fucking is not!_ ** ” Crixus howls. 

“ _ Will some of you please wait  _ **_outside_ ** ?” Nurse Belesa snarls. 

“Nasir.” Agron says. “Short. Really short. Long dark hair. Cute smile.”

_ Oh—  _

“ _ Shit _ !” Saxa hisses.

“It’s not going to come back to him.” Nasir says, very quietly. And then everyone else is also very quiet. “He interrupted a meeting at the club where I work. Knew me for about seventeen seconds before my boyfriend hit him in the head with a metal pipe.”

Spartacus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “ _ Damn it. _ ”

“ _ What? _ ” Naevia hisses. 

“I  _ was  _ drugged, but I knew it was going to happen. It always happens. Pretty average for a Tuesday.”

“ _ Shit. _ ” Duro blinks at him from the bed. And those dimples really  _ do  _ run in the family. “Little Man! You’re all right! I thought they’d  _ kill  _ you.”

Nasir can’t help but smile back, even while most of the room’s occupants make faces better suited to a Munch painting. “They might have. Caesar gets carried away sometimes.”

His gaze flickers, however briefly, to Agron. He shouldn’t have looked. The man looks destroyed. 

“I’ve never once stood up for myself, but I couldn’t let them drag you away. It was a pretty shitty first attempt. Think I should give it another shot.”

Nasir takes a deep breath. Nods to himself. 

“Thanks for being...really fucking good people.”

And then he leaves before the rest of the shit can hit the fan. 

-

“So,” Duro says. “You  _ didn’t  _ meet my boyfriend.”

This time, when Agron says ‘shut up,’ he absolutely means it. 

“His name is Auctus.”

“ _ Son of a bitch. _ ”

-

Nasir runs back to Chadara’s apartment to change into something more suitable. 

_ Volupta  _ has a very specific dress code, after all. 

-

“ _ Everybody shut the fuck up! _ ” Spartacus shouts.

And everybody shuts the fuck up, because it is not normal for  _ Spartacus  _ to shout. 

It’s his whole thing, really. 

He’s calm even when things are blowing up around him—like Crixus and the font of threats and bullshit he became after Nasir walked out. 

“You liked him ten minutes ago.” 

“That’s before we found out he was a lying  _ bastard. _ ” Crixus spits. 

“He didn’t lie.”

“Um.” Donar frowns. “Yes? Pretty sure he did?”

“I don’t remember him  _ ever  _ telling  _ any  _ of us that he was Duro’s boyfriend.”

“ _ He told us shit about Duro! _ ” Saxa growls. 

“He reassured us that our  _ friend _ was doing  _ well. _ ” Spartacus says, very firmly. “He wasn’t doing any of this on purpose.”

Mira frowns, arms crossing defensively. “And you know this  _ how _ ? ...Wait. Spartacus, tell me this isn’t some weird patient/client thing you  _ knew  _ and didn’t  _ tell us _ .”

“No.” Spartacus sighs. “The first night, after everyone left, Nasir came back to visit. I overheard him talking.”

“To the comatose idiot that saved his life!” Crixus gestures wildly at Duro, who makes a face like he can’t decide whether or not to be offended. 

“They were going to kill him!” Duro yells. “They  _ were _ . He told that guy he felt  _ sick _ and he needed a doctor, and he was like—” The German affects a truly  _ horrendous  _ Transylvanian accent. “ _ ‘You’re about to.’” _

“How do we know he wasn’t involved in some criminal bullshit?” Donar asks. “That sounds like criminal bullshit to me.”

Lugo shoves him. “Nasir is good person!”

“ _ He nearly ripped your eyes out, man!” _

“Because of Caesar.” Agron’s voice is quiet, but it carries. 

“ _ Who the hell is Caesar? _ ” At least three people blurt out at once. 

“The creepy guy.” Duro says. 

“His boss.” Spartacus adds. 

Agron squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to fight back a migraine. Or a growing swell of rage. Sometimes they go together. “ _ His boyfriend. _ ”

He rises from the chair, jaw set and eyes sharp with determination. “That’s where he’s going now. To start a fight with Caesar.”

-

Nasir enters  _ Volupta  _ from the alley. 

He thinks it’s a little bit poetic that the same loose pipe that Caesar had picked up is still lying back there with all of the spare materials. 

It’s going to be an eventful afternoon. 

-

Caesar’s office is too chic and expensive to be comfortable, but there’s still a couch for Nasir to sprawl on while he waits for the man, the legend, the sadistic son of a bitch to come back, if only to shut a door for the illusion of purpose. 

The funny thing about this is that plenty of Nasir’s coworkers spotted him coming in, but  _ none of them said a word.  _

Poor management, really. 

He should have been less of a sociopath.

-

By the time Caesar  _ does _ waltz in, and it is a good hour later, Nasir’s had time to think. 

A little bit about what he’s about to do, and a lot of bits about how disappointed he is to lose out on what he’s beginning to realize was quickly becoming a very comfortable support network. 

Spartacus might never talk to him, but after this—if he survives—he really should find another therapist. 

Normal people don’t sit in the dark waiting to murder their abusive exes. 

(Do they?)

It’s probably for the best. 

Any longer, and he really would have had trouble giving Agron up. 

Agron with his dimpled smile, his moss-green eyes, and that ridiculous scruff. All of that foul-mouthed boyish charm wrapped in all of those issues. 

Shit, isn’t  _ charm _ what got him into this mess?

_ You’ll do great, baby, just drink this.  _

He watches, smiling a smile that isn’t a smile at all as Caesar saunters into the room, kicks the door shut behind him, and strips off his designer jacket. He goes for the actual snifter of brandy he keeps behind the desk, and pours himself a generous glass.

Watching the movement of those powerful hands, Nasir remembers just how  _ good  _ they used to feel. How easily they turned violent. 

He watches the bob of Caesar’s Adam’s apple, and remembers how easily those hands wrapped around his throat. 

Part of him thinks he should be disgusted with himself, but he has to stifle a sudden surge of hysterical laughter in his throat. Is this ironic? This is probably ironic. 

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

Caesar chokes. Tries to recover some air of smoothness, but it’s difficult with brandy spattered on your Gucci shirt. 

“Nasir.” He smiles.

“Asshole.” Nasir answers. 

Caesar blinks at him.

Which is fair. He’s never insulted Caesar to his face before. 

Behind his back with Chadara and the others?  _ Absolutely.  _ But never to his face. He’d be wearing the marks for days. 

“Did you come to play?”

“Mhm. I brought a toy to share.” Nasir looks up from beneath his eyelashes, the way the blond man used to go  _ crazy  _ for. 

Caesar’s gaze falls to the pipe laid across his lap. “That’s cheating, baby.”

“I’ve been training for the last few days, Cee, but I’m not dumb enough to think I could take you in a fight. This is insurance.”

“You stabbed someone the other night. I was angry at first, but the sight of you all slick with blood was pretty inspiring. I won’t lie.”

“You lie all the time. And then you hit me again.”

Caesar frowns. “I…”

The frown deepens. He reaches up to undo his top button.

“You feeling hot, baby?” Nasir purrs. 

The older man goes very still. “ _ You little bitch. _ ”

He seems uncomfortable. 

Nasir can relate. 

But as Caesar rips his collar open further and the buttons go flying, he realizes that he probably should have upped the dose. 

_ Ah, shit.  _

-

There are a lot of things you think about when you’re about to die. 

Nasir’s been here a few times before, with Caesar a lot less angry. 

He keeps taking breaks from strangling him, letting him revive just a little only to slap him, bite his lips, rake his nails over his throat and start again. 

Like there’s love in there somewhere, but it can’t help but come out evil. 

Nasir thinks about Agron. 

About gentle fingers curling in his hair, about kisses pressed to the top of his head. About strong arms holding him when the sky definitely was falling, if only for him. 

And then, very suddenly, Caesar’s weight is lifted with a wet cracking noise, and Nasir is sprawled on the floor with a front row seat to those rage issues Agron mentioned. 

_ This shouldn’t be fucking attractive.  _

But wow, is it. 

Then Spartacus is kneeling down beside him, checking to make sure he’s not concussed and finding himself disappointed. 

“It’s okay.” Spartacus says. “We’re going to get you to the hospital.”

Nasir tries to laugh and just ends up coughing, throat screaming from the mistreatment. “Aren’t they tired of us by now?”

-

Nasir wakes up in a different hospital room, thank goodness, and blinks up at the dreary ceiling. 

Someone coughs, and his eyes drift over to find  _ Crixus _ looking hopeful. The strangeness dissolves when the man smirks and announces, “Hey, dickhead! He’s awake!”

“Little Man!” Lugo’s face is suddenly  _ very close _ to his. 

Nasir smiles, even though his head hurts. “Shouldn’t you guys be with Duro? What happened?”

“ _ You  _ happened.” Naevia scolds him even as she comes to fluff his pillows. “You went running in all Don Quixote with a pipe and nearly got murdered.”

“I remember that part.”

“Does that make Agron Sancho Panza? He’s too much of a dumbass to be Sancho Panza.” 

Mira steps on Crixus’ foot. 

“Please.” Laeta says. “Hesitate before checking in another one of your friends. Are you feeling okay, honey?”

“I’ve had worse.” He sighs, and then flinches when  _ everyone frowns at him.  _ “Okay, so not great. I mean why are you  _ here _ ?”

Crixus snorts. 

“Because you’re dating our friend.”

“...No?”

“Agron hasn’t told you yet, but you’re dating.” 

Nasir laughs, cheeks hot and stomach swooping. “And when did we decide this?”

Did he die at  _ Volupta?  _ Is any of this real? 

And then there’s Agron by the door, frozen like he can’t  _ move  _ for the relief of seeing Nasir awake and laughing. There are those damn dimples again. 

“Well?” Nasir asks.

“Must have been while you were sleeping.”

-

Agron looks back over his shoulder, spotting a very stern-looking Spartacus, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay, fine. Consent issues. We’ll talk about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all think Agron could stay mad at him for more than like fifteen minutes?
> 
> The next two chapters are more epilogue than anything, but I love them.   
> I hope you will, too.


	9. We Like Warm Hugs and Medical Tape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I'd let you go without gratuitous brotherly fluff nonsense?

It’s been about a month since Duro was discharged from the hospital, and things are a little better, he thinks. 

Everyone but Crixus has pretty much forgiven Nasir for the unboyfriend thing, and Crixus only hesitates because he likes making people regret petty shit for _literal years._

Which means that Nasir is settling in comfortably, and Agron has someone to spoil the everloving hell out of while Duro and Auctus take a well-deserved vacation at a clothing optional beach resort. 

It’s all great until he forgets the sunscreen and spends hours romping around with Auctus in the surf. A few hours later, he can feel his skin crinkling and tearing every time he moves. 

“Can you _get_ a third degree sunburn? Can we look that up?”

“ _Stay off of WebMD._ I reminded you _three times,_ babe. _How?_ ” Auctus sighs. “I have to go get more aloe. You...nevermind. I’ll pick up dinner while I’m out, so try to rest, okay?”

His boyfriend kisses him _very carefully_ before he goes.

...

Duro lasts for about five minutes by himself before he’s dragged his phone over by the charge cable and started googling ‘how help snake shed.’

It should be the same basic principle, right?

… 

It’s not. He’ll need help to get to the tub without becoming a useless weepy skin puddle, anyway. 

So he kills some time opening and closing Instagram, and runs across an old photo of he and Agron sprawled on the gym floor, hands still wrapped, smiling at the camera like idiots.

He last saw his brother a week ago, dropping him and Auctus off at the airport. Nasir was circling in the car, and they were already cutting it pretty close to their flight, but it was _weird_ to say goodbye after so little time together again. 

They’ve been working on it. 

So Agron wrapped an arm around his shoulder—like always—and dragged him in to kiss his forehead. “Don’t be an asshole. Call this time.”

And really, what else does he have to do?

It’s only like eight there, anyway. 

-

Agron answers on the third ring, fumbling a bit. 

“ _Na, was geht ab_?” 

“ _Einiges._ ” Duro grumbles. “I’m stuck in bed again.”

There’s a moment of quiet. “Like...hospital bed? Sick in bed? Tied _to_ a bed?”

He can hear Nasir yell something in the background. 

“ _They’re all valid questions!_ ” Agron whines. “We beat the shit out of a crime lord! Hold on, hold on. Can I put you on speaker?”

“I guess? Is Nasir—”

“Sorry, Duro. We’re cooking a late dinner.”

“Oh, lucky. Agron’s a good cook.”

“I know. I’m definitely _not._ ” Nasir laughs. “We signed up for one of those meal kit things, so we’re making bacon-glazed scallops.”

That’s... _insanely domestic_ for Agron.

“I forgot the sunblock and now I’m well done.”

“You’ve spent a week alone with your boyfriend. You _should_ be well done.” Agron snorts.

“ _Gross._ ”

“Sorry. Are we pretending you don’t have sex with your boyfriend?”

“ _I called you for pity._ ” Duro whines. 

Agron laughs. “Seriously. Drink a lot of water. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Have you taken a shower?” Nasir asks. 

“I’m going to take another as soon as Auctus comes back with more aloe.”

“Good. Cool water will help. Don’t dry off all the way, and put on moisturizer after.”

“Bro, you’re dating WebMD.”

“Or just someone who sunbathes naked a lot.” He can _hear_ Nasir smirking.

“ _Babe._ You can’t say that while Duro’s on the phone.”

“Are we pretending _we_ don’t have sex, too?”

They keep him company until Auctus gets back, but even then Duro’s a little reluctant to hang up the phone. 

So Auctus smiles and holds the phone while they hang out in the bathroom, Duro swearing and whining about all the pain he’s in. 

Agron coos, _armer kleiner Bruder._

And Duro forgets for a moment that you can’t see rude gestures through the phone. 

But he laughs the whole time.

-

It’s weird, Duro thinks, that Agron’s never really been serious about _anyone_ before. 

But now, after one month, he’s got a semi-live-in boyfriend and a two-person meal kit subscription that might as well come with matching aprons. 

It makes him regret, a little, that he kept Auctus from his brother so long. 

Because it’s good to know that someone is making Agron this happy. 

-

So he keeps calling. 

And it’s good. 

-

It’s not that he was just trying to keep Agron out of his new life choices. 

He and Auctus both have really intensive jobs, and they don’t get a lot of downtime that they spend _not_ glued together. 

But the whole _being in a coma_ thing seems to have awakened some new empathy in his boss, and she’s been giving him a lot of time off ‘to spend with family.’

He’s not about to argue. 

But Auctus is still very busy. 

And Agron is running the gym. 

So he ends up going to his brother’s place and hanging out with Nasir. 

-

Duro flicks his thumb across the screen, once, twice— 

“Okay! This one!” 

Nasir shifts at the other end of the couch, leaning forward over his bent legs, eager for the next question. “What is it?”

“‘Is cereal a soup? Why or why not?’”

He frowns. 

Opens his mouth.

Frowns some more. “ _Why_ is that question so upsetting?”

“Because it’s _cereal_.” Duro laughs. 

“You can’t argue about it being _soup_ , though. There’s _cold soup!_ ”

“I still think that’s weird.” He wrinkles his nose. “Cold liquid should be dessert.”

“Should it? Ice water isn’t a dessert. Juice isn’t.”

“No, like—like cool/sweet.” Duro tries to explain. 

“You’d be surprised. Umi used to make lebaniyye, and it was amazing.”

“What?”

“It’s a yogurt soup.”

“Yogurt?”

“You cook the rice in it, but you have to be careful to stir it or the yogurt curdles.” He laughs, looking at Duro’s face. “Not your thing?”

“How does the yogurt _become soup?_ ”

“There’s other things in it!” Nasir falls back against the arm. “Trust me, it’s really good! I miss it.”

“Would you cook it, if you had the recipe?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that to Umi. She didn’t carry me for nine months for me to malign her recipes. I bet Salim could figure it out. He used to help her in the kitchen.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

“You should.”

Nasir arches a brow at him.

“I’ve learned my lesson! I’m talking to Agron. You should talk to Salim.”

There’s a moment of quiet as Nasir grabs a throw pillow Mira _definitely_ picked out and starts fussing with it. “I’m worried my situation’s a little too different.”

“Did you tell him to get lost, or what?”

“He tried to get me to quit, and Caesar broke his nose. And somehow I was still convinced that I had shit under control.”

Duro frowns, trying to put that logic together. 

“This is probably a Spartacus problem.” Nasir sighs. 

“No, man. Well—yeah, definitely a Spartacus problem. But you can talk to me about it, too, if you don’t expect like...profound, worldly insight.”

Nasir smiles at him, small and wobbly, and Duro scoots forward to pull him into an awkward couch-hug. 

“Maybe the universe sent you Agron to break Caesar’s nose back. Maybe it’s a cosmic sign that you should call your brother and tell him about it.”

“‘ _Marhaba,_ Salim! Sorry my last boyfriend broke your face, but my new one broke _his_ , so now you’re cosmically even.”

Duro laughs, ruffling Nasir’s hair the way Agron ruffles _his_ until the shorter man bats him off. “So he’s your boyfriend then? For sure?”

“I don’t know what else you’d call it. I live here, now. I can’t afford the old place without Caesar’s blood money.” Nasir looks up at him from under long lashes and mussed, dark hair. He looks like he’s getting ready to _eat him._ “And you know…we’re _definitely_ having—”

Duro mashes the pillow over his face. “Nope! Nope! You’re worse than he is! You _deserve_ each other.”

“I’m not going to disagree.” Agron says from the door. “But why are you murdering my boyfriend?”

“Agron!” Nasir laughs, pushing the pillow off his face. “Is cereal a soup?”

-

So it’s normal for Duro to be here, in the apartment he used to share with his brother. 

Hanging out. 

Not feeling awkward or kind of sorry it’s taken so long to look at his brother and see his best friend again. 

And it’s normal to play-wrestle with Agron a little, roll around, knock into stuff. Until he lands wrong on his wrist and a very _specific_ sort of pain jolts through his nerve endings, and he drops like a noodle. 

“ _OW!_ ” He yells, “OW FUCK OW!”

Agron is propped over him in seconds, pulling his wrist across his body to check the damage. 

Nasir runs out of the kitchen, where he’s been trusted to bake a batch of boxed brownies, spatula dripping chocolate batter onto the floor. 

“It’s been like ten minutes! What’s happening?!”

“Duro’s hurt.” Agron says, breathless. He looks like he might cry. Bites his lip. “I swear I’m not trying to baby you, all right? Just please let me see.”

“I know you’re not.” Duro spits. “ _But it hurts._ ”

Nasir tosses the spatula onto the coffee table and huddles with them on the floor. “Let me see. Shhhh. Let me see, I’m used to this. Does it feel broken?”

The ‘I’m used to this’ kind of makes Duro want to find and punch Caesar with his non-screaming hand. 

Duro grits his teeth and does his best to breathe through them. 

“That’s the labor breathing, Duro.”

“ _It’s the_ **_minimizing my pain_ ** _breathing now, Agron._ ”

“Cool, cool. Push out the pain baby.”

“Sh-shut—” Duro chokes on a laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make me laugh.”

Nasir examines his wrist, hisses a little. “I think it’s a sprain. Do you want me to call Laeta?”

“Laeta my nurse Laeta?” Duro frowns.

“She’s his nurse, too.” Agron scolds him. 

“She’s not _anybody’s_ nurse. Except maybe Mira and Spartacus. They’ve been getting along.”

“What.” 

“What.”

Laeta tells them to follow RICE. 

Rest the wrist for 48 hours, ice it to reduce pain and swelling, compress the injury with a bandage, and elevate it on the back of the couch while watching some absolutely mind-numbing television. 

“I knew Spartacus could pull.” Duro frowns. “I just didn’t think it was with both hands.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Both of those women could murder you. Especially when you’ve only got one arm.”

“I can punch you with the other one.” 

“When you feel better, sure.” Agron smiles, not looking away from the TV for a second, Nasir tucked against his side. “You want another brownie in the meantime?”

Duro hums, tucks himself into Agron’s other side, and opens his mouth for baked goods.

Family and all that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to contact some of y'all about the translations, but I'm very sore and exhausted.  
> (And I get nervous about bothering people.)
> 
> Please please forgive me. I'll fix whatever's wrong. 
> 
> x-x


	10. Pratfalling in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous fluff and happy idiots.

-

6 months later…

-

For all that sweet, sweet therapy money, Spartacus lives in a fairly modest building, but there’s always plenty of room for friends. 

(And for friends to screw each other’s brains out in a well-placed guest room.)

Agron is taking full advantage of that, admiring the way Nasir whines, legs wrapped tight around his hips and showing off all of that hard-earned muscle, fingers gripping his lover’s short hair, pressing their foreheads together as Agron fucks him up against the wall. 

The air is warm and damp between them, breath coming heavy between their parted lips. 

Agron craves being close like this—kept their fingers tangled in his coat pocket on the way over here. Only ever wants to keep his lover safe and warm and  _ close _ . 

“I love you.” Nasir whispers. “I love you so  _ fucking _ much.”

Agron’s laugh is more like a desperate gasp for oxygen. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you too. I—mmmmmm.”

“Are you gonna come?” Nasir purrs. “I want you to.”

“ _ Shit. _ ” Agron’s hips falter, just for a second, and then he picks up the pace, thrusts coming harder as he watches Nasir’s head fall back against the wall. 

_ That’s it. _

He loves Nasir’s mouth, loves his wit, but there’s always something to be said for rendering him completely speechless. 

Agron presses his advantage, bouncing his boyfriend on his cock and leaning down to bite mercilessly on— 

“Oh  _ son of a  _ **_bitch_ ** _ ,  _ bro!” Duro throws his coat at them, and Agron nearly falls over. Nasir scrambles for better purchase, laughing for all the sudden  _ painful awkwardness.  _

“Auctus, don’t look. You can’t meet my brother while he’s bare-assed.”

“For what it’s worth, it’s a decent one.”

“ _ Babe!” _

“Are you Nasir?”

Nasir is busy asphyxiating on his own hysterical laughter while Agron swears and tries not to fall down. 

“ _ What are you doing in there?!”  _ Spartacus yells from the hall. “Agron, you said you were going to get  _ ice! _ ”

“It’s  _ fucking December!”  _ Agron yells. “ _ Put the beers on the balcony!” _

-

They all gather in the living room, fully clothed, to get ready for the ball to drop. 

Duro picks at the label of his beer, leaning into his boyfriend’s side while he tries to kill Agron with his mind. 

“Look on the bright side.” Donar says. “He isn’t micromanaging the shit out of  _ your  _ life anymore.”

“He’s working on healthy limits.” Spartacus says, as if it didn’t take Laeta and Mira both to keep him from smacking the taste out of his friend’s mouth twenty minutes ago. 

“Everybody shut up!” Crixus snarls from the floor, Naevia perched in his lap. “I’m kissing my girl at midnight, and if any of you shitheads mess that up, I’m throwing you off the balcony.”

Naevia  _ coos _ at this. 

But everyone settles in to watch as the countdown starts. 

-

**10…**

**9…**

“Hey, Nasir?”

**7…**

“Hm?”

**5…**

“You single?”

**3…**

**2…**

“‘Cause I’d like to marry you.”

-

“ _ Son of a bitch, Agron _ !” Duro yowls as Nasir tackles his brother off the couch, crushing their lips together as they land on the floor right next to Crixus and Naevia. 

“I am  _ not  _ filling out  _ intake forms for you  _ on  _ New Year’s fucking Eve. _ ” Laeta shouts. 

But then Nasir is yelling, “We’re getting married!” 

Which means ‘yes,’ probably. 

And Agron is sore as hell, but he’s engaged to his brother’s unboyfriend, and they’re all talking again, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

-

And then...

“Crixus,” Naevia snickers. “Baby, look.”

She waves him over to look at her computer screen, at the photos Duro just sent her. 

The subject line reads:  **Engagement Photos for Idiots.**

The first photo is of a beaming Nasir, laughter in his eyes, standing on the balcony of that ridiculous castle in the municipal park. He’s bundled up in a soft sweater, and his hair is down, falling silky smooth over his shoulder. 

He’s beautiful. 

And he’s smiling down at... 

Agron, who’s on the ground, grinning up at him.

“No.” Crixus says. “No, he’s not that dumb.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”

“ _ No. _ ”

The next photo is of Agron holding the ring between his fingers, looking down at it. 

“Tell me he’s not.”

“I can’t.” Naevia giggles. “I can’t.”

The next photo features Agron—ring safely in his pocket because at least he isn’t  **_that_ ** dumb—scaling the jutting stone footholds and windowsills along the way. 

One, apparently, required him to jump, because Duro has helpfully labeled it ‘PARKOUR.’

And then he’s maybe a foot away from the balcony

When 

He

Slips.

Close-up of the panicked look on Nasir’s face as he throws himself half over the balcony to grab his fiance to stop his fall. 

Followed by a wide shot of both of them, Nasir draped over the balcony, one leg hooked on the baluster for leverage, grasping onto Agron’s shirt and wrist like some kind of twisted human mobile. 

Agron glares at the camera. 

Then, Agron glares at the camera with a middle finger extended while Nasir is frozen mid-yell. 

Then, Nasir manages to yank Agron onto the balcony, where he clings to the posts like a frightened baby monkey before his fiance hauls him over. 

Then, Nasir holds Agron’s face between his palms, kissing him. 

And finally, more kissing, but with both men extending their middle fingers down at Duro.

The body message reads: 

_ I promise there are some actual gems in here but I laughed so hard I nearly pissed myself. Figure you could use these for Nasir’s photobook debut.  _

Naevia saves them to the folder.

-

But Naevia’s favorite photo of the year is from their joint bachelor party. 

No strippers, thank  _ fuck.  _

But there is Salim, standing with Nasir wrapped up in his arms, trying hard to stop crying. His lips press against the top of his younger brother’s head, but his eyes are locked on Agron, hands in his pockets and smiling. 

It’s going to be alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me this week or so. xD  
> If anyone is interested in checking out a multifandom Discord (which _needs_ more Nagron content pls) give Omegawatch a look [here.](https://discord.gg/T9xUq6t)
> 
> I'll leave the link up for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> It's really weird to wonder ' _but are these characters swearing **enough?**_ '
> 
> -
> 
> Hören Sie auf damit! - Stop it!  
> (Translation fixed thanks to DevilsPetal, a hero. Bless your face.)


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